


The Puzzling Matter of Doctor Chase and the Fishnet Stockings

by ClarySage (ClaryTehSage)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 02:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16008461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaryTehSage/pseuds/ClarySage
Summary: Chase loses a bet, and then loses his dignity, and then cleans up. Not nessecarily in that order.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I made my friend think of Chase in a french maid outfit, she made me write it in order to banish it from her brain, we'll find out if it worked at the autopsy.

House was busy unlocking his door and leaning over to read his mail, and it was pure chance that he glanced through the doorway and into his apartment. Not that in a few more minutes he wouldn’t have ended up doing just that, but it was at that particular moment that Dr. Robert Chase was hitching up what appeared to be a thigh high fishnet stocking. It should have been the fact that Chase was in his apartment at all that piqued his curiosity, but due to the timing and glance, it was the stocking.

“You’d turn more tricks if you stood out on the corner with the rest of the hookers,” he told Chase in all seriousness, setting the mail on his desk, and turning to eye the young man intently.

The brief flash of fishnet stocking had only been but a brief flash, and now as he stared he wondered what else was hiding under the long coat Chase wore. Of course, there was also the question of what Chase was doing in his apartment in the first place.

House waited patiently, tapping the tip of his cane on the floor, fingers curled comfortably around it. Chase appeared to be desperately trying to turn into a chameleon, or perhaps merely invisible, either endeavor impossible due to the bright flush making its way over his face. A variety-show of emotions kept crossing his features, mouth dropping open every now and then as if he would speak, then he’d meet House’s steady gaze, and his mouth would snap shut.

House sighed after a few minutes of this static inactivity; at the rate they were moving he’d have to wait all night for an answer - as Chase stood by gawping like a goldfish. He was on the verge of breaking down and asking the far too obvious question of - “why are you here?” - when at last Chase spoke.

“It was a bet, I lostabet,” he blurted out rapidly. Then he took off the coat.

House knew immediately whatever the bet Chase had made it’d been with Wilson, because only Wilson would stick this particular person, in this situation, in that outfit. He didn’t bother asking, knowing it was true. Instead he smiled a smirk of a smile, and asked, “Do I get the service too? Or just the uniform?”

Chase fidgeted and stared at his shoes, which were a surprisingly sensible pair of sneakers. “I’m supposed to clean your apartment from top to bottom, for as long as you want me here doing it.” He looked up with a dejected expression; one that clearly said he’d hoped House wouldn’t want him overly long.

House hid a malicious grin, taking off his jacket and flinging it over the back of the couch, before sprawling onto the couch himself and getting comfortable. “Cleaning supplies are in the kitchen, below the sink.” He pointed in the general direction of the kitchen and watched with enthusiastic interest as Chase headed that way.

The French Maid outfit had always been a personal favorite of his; he could even recall telling Wilson about his fetish for it once or twice. There was just something about the black, white, frills and stockings. Though usually House preferred it on a woman, ideally one with cleavage for days. But on Chase it wasn’t bad. The boy had nice legs, long and perfectly muscled. The shoes were a bit ridiculous. “Take those off,” he called, pointing at the sneakers when Chase turned to see what he’d meant. Without a word of protest the blonde toed the shoes off, placing them neatly beside the coat he’d abandoned before returning to the kitchen. House’s mouth quirked at the corner, his eyes continuing the journey of Chase’s uniform clad body. Where had Wilson dug up the outfit?

He was tempted to call Wilson at that very moment, but wasn’t sure whether he’d thank his friend or berate him, so he decided to wait and see how the evening went. In the meantime, Chase had found what little cleaning supplies there were and was half-heartedly swiping at the kitchen counters.

So, Chase had lost a bet with Wilson, House idly wondered what it could have been. It must have been something Chase was convinced he’d win. Curiosity steadily began gaining on House, and he levered himself from the couch to tip-tap his way over. “What was the bet?” he barked, startling the young doctor so that he dropped the cloth he’d been wiping the counter with.

Chase turned deer-in-the-headlight eyes upon him and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, I lost.”

“And in losing you have to clean my apartment wearing,” House gestured at the outfit, “that.” He didn’t bother tacking a question mark to the end, knowing he was right.

Chase nodded, one hand slipping below the short ruffled skirt to hitch up a stocking.

House carefully smothered a grin, “Well, so far you’ve yet to impress me with your cleaning abilities, so how about you get down on your hands and knees and do some serious scrubbing.” He knocked the back of Chase’s knees with his cane, forcing the blonde to lose his balance and slip to the floor in a heap. Chase managed a withering look combined with blushing embarrassment, and looked down at the floor, it was filthy.

“You’re joking?” Chase asked, unable to hide the hint of optimism in his voice.

House merely gave him a look that seemed to say it all, meandering back to the couch and slumping into a comfortable position once more. Chase gave up and began ineffectually rubbing at the floor.

“Be sure to get underneath the counters, that’s where all the dirt takes cover,” House informed him, settling in to a lying down position, hands behind his head, and eyes on Chase. With the new position House could see what was under the skirt, and suddenly he began looking around the apartment wondering what else was low enough to get Chase to bend over in order to clean it. Perhaps beneath the couch, or the television, under the bed, or the bathtub. All of these tasks would require Chase on his knees and bent over.

It seemed only fair to House that he get a show for the inconvenience. He had been planning on a nice lazy evening of Vicodin and Tivo, but since Chase had ruined that idea, he figured it was perfectly acceptable to force him to become the entertainment for the evening.

His eyes followed the dip and sway of the little frills and ruffles on the skirt, every now and then Chase would have to bend especially far over, and the skirt would gradually ride up, showing off silken black panties and the top of a garter belt. It certainly wasn’t everyone who could pull off thigh high stockings, but Chase managed it delightfully.

The skirt bobbed and dipped its frilly little way across the kitchen floor, House barely aware of the person at the other end of it. It was as if Chase’s satiny black panties were an entity in their own right, not even connected to the scarlet face and blond hair at the other end. Though House couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on Chase’s glowing features. It seemed the boy knew exactly where House was looking, and couldn’t do a thing to stop it, occasionally a hand would reach back, desperately trying to tug the skirt lower and failing every time.

Despite his best efforts, House couldn’t keep a smug grin from creeping upon his lips, where it stayed and steadily grew, if possible, smugger. He didn’t question that Chase looked good in the outfit, better than good. It didn’t bring to mind queries into his own sexuality, or doubts about his libido; after all, he’d always known Chase was a beautiful boy. If anything, he’d had a hard time not mentioning the blonde’s looks. Though it had managed to slip from him on occasion, usually when yelling, sometimes when not.

The skirt continued its perilous journey around the kitchen, little flashes of frilly white and silky black, and the occasional length of smooth white thigh. It was obvious Chase did no nude sunbathing, tan lines invisible or non-existent. Despite his best efforts House’s eyes kept returning to the little patch of skirt just above Chase’s ass, it kept flashing at him, daring him to keep looking.

He hadn’t really noticed the ass before. Sure he’d noticed and even commented upon the lips, hair, and cheekbones, but had never before had a reason to observe the stunning perfection of the young doctor’s ass. And it was perfection, what, did the kid have a Buns of Steel tape at home? Perhaps a Thighmaster? House tried to imagine it; Chase at home, using a Thighmaster, sipping tea perhaps. He shook his head and let out a soft chuckle, spiraling it into an outright laugh when Chase turned horrified eyes upon him.

“Clean below the TV next,” he ordered, thoroughly enjoying the look of dismay Chase cast back at him. A few moments later Chase trudged into the living room, his knees behind the stockings were darkened from being on the floor, and for a moment House almost felt bad that the cleaning was slowly trashing the outfit.

Chase carefully dropped to his knees and bent over to reach beneath the television, fingers coming back dusty and clutching old magazines, a dirty t-shirt – “hey, that’s where that was,” – a smudged spoon. He handed House the t-shirt and continued to rummage, pulling out a few more magazines and then industriously running a cloth beneath the television stand. House watched mesmerized as the skirt swayed and dipped in time with the movement. He was half tempted to use his cane to lift the little bit of cloth just a tad more upwards, but managed to resist the urge at the very last moment, cane hovering just behind the oblivious blonde.

It came gradually upon House, that given the same situation; he wouldn’t have done the same thing as Chase. Even upon the rare chance of actually losing a bet, there was no way he would have gone through with the consequences. He would have refused, offered money, and in the end downright welched on it. So, he wondered, why had Chase gone through with it? Had there been threats? Money? Or was there some other reason? House tried to imagine Foreman or Cameron in a similar situation, but he knew neither of them would have done it either. Yet Chase had, and was at his apartment, studiously scrubbing at the months, possibly years, of filth beneath the television.

“Is it guilt?” House wondered aloud, and hastily pulled back his forgotten and hovering cane as Chase whirled on him. He could’ve taken an eye out.

“Is what guilt?” Chase snapped, and then looked guilty.

Sometimes, House mused, you didn’t even need a verbal reply to gain an answer. He smiled heartlessly at Chase and gestured down the hall towards the bathroom. “Clean the tub next.”

The uniform was going to go to hell, already the stockings were beyond saving, a small tear just below Chase’s left knee. The bathtub was going to take the rest, bleach bound to make the black become speckled with off-white and yellow stains. With any luck, Chase would be leaving his apartment in nothing but a pair of panties and a coat. House would have to apologize later to Wilson, maybe.

Suddenly he realized there was something missing. “Where’s the cap?” he asked sharply, making Chase jump and spin once more.

“What?”

“The cap, the hat, the little white and black laced up bit that goes on your head. Where is it?”

“Oh,” Chase mumbled, “there wasn’t one.” He turned and slowly walked down the hallway to begin on the tub. House admired the view, and then stood up, grabbing a nearby chair and dragging it down the hallway, he needed to supervise this endeavor closely.

He propped the chair in front of the doorway and leaned back, stretching out his legs. Chase was standing in front of the bathtub as if unsure what to do about it. “It doesn’t need to be diagnosed,” House informed him curtly, and pushed the bottle of bathtub scrub towards his feet with the tip of his cane. “I’m almost positive that this will cure its unsightly case of mildew.”

Still Chase didn’t move, fingers toying with the edge of his outfit nervously. “I…” he looked back, meeting House’s withering gaze and rushed to go on, “I don’t want to stain it,” he said, fluttering the edge of the skirt in an indication of what he meant would get stained.

“Then take it off,” House suggested in a reasonable tone.

“But…”

“But?”

“I…never mind.” With a sigh Chase gestured at the zipper on the back of the uniform, motioning helplessly at it. When House made no move to help, he wiggled around, managing to tug the zipper down a quarter of the way. House remained indifferent to his plight, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Chase tried again, contorting his arms in his effort to get the zipper the rest of the way down. At last he gave up and asked, “would you please unzip it the rest of the way?”

“Certainly,” House said, as if that was all he’d been waiting for.

He stood, and moved close to the blonde’s back, carefully breathing down his neck. Slowly he eased the zipper downward, making sure Chase heard and felt each little click of it as it went. The zipper ended just above the curve that marked the end of his back and the beginning of his rear. House quelled the urge he had to pat it and pulled his hands away, sitting back down in the chair with a grunt, as if unzipping had been the greatest effort he’d ever made, and was quite possibly exhausting.

Chase shrugged his arms out of the sleeves, turning to glance at House from the corner of his eyes as he removed the dress. He lifted each leg in turn, stepping out of it and folding it neatly before laying it on the edge of the sink. Briefly his eyes met House’s, which was difficult, as House was busily admiring the unobstructed view. Chase blushed a furious shade of red once more, the color seeping down his neck and over his chest, going so far as to slip along his belly and tantalize at the waistline of his panties. He tugged at a slipping stocking and unconsciously moved a hand to cover his genitals, then blushed all the harder when House’s smirking smile grew wider.

“Do you have to watch?” Chase asked pitifully.

“I didn’t lose the bet.”

“But, this wasn’t part of the bet,” Chase tried.

“And what was this elusive bet of yours? Something more appalling than this? Do you have secret fetish for costly jewelry? Get an expensive girlfriend?”

Chase grit his teeth and resolutely turned his back refusing to answer, easing to his knees and picking up the bottle of cleaner and a sponge. Even from behind House could tell he was still blushing crimson.

The new view distracted him from his musings on the mysterious bet for a few moments, and House found it hard to rip his gaze from Chase’s rear. Without the skirt bobbing along it almost seemed lewd. Well, it’d been slightly lewd before, but now it was virtually naughty. Then again, he did have a half-naked blond Australian cleaning his bathroom in nothing but a small pair of black panties, garter belt and fishnets. Yes, the situation was decidedly bizarre; he’d really have to thank Wilson later.

Chase bent at an awkward angle over the tub, straining to twist far enough to clean the opposite end without having to climb in. House shuddered in delight, where was his camera when he needed it, did his cellphone have one? He couldn’t recall, and before he could think too seriously on getting up to scrounge around for a look, Chase finished the tub.

He turned a fantastically flushed face towards House, eyes trained on the floor with desperation. “What’s next?” he whispered breathlessly at the bathmat beneath his feet.

For a moment House drew a complete blank. Next? There was a next? Oh yes, right, the bedroom. He stood, dragging the chair back to living room without a word. When he turned around Chase was dressed again and still standing in the bathroom, shame pouring off him in rivers. House almost felt sorry for him, but snapped to in the passing of a second, gesturing commandingly towards the bedroom. “Make my bed.” He chuckled evilly and tapped his way into the bedroom, leaning his weight against the dresser while he waited.

Chase followed slowly, head down, eyes on the floor. He dragged his feet as he eased towards the bed, acting as if the bedclothes might leap up at any moment and attack. The back of the uniform gaped open, and House resisted the urge to zip it up without having been asked.

It was just as Chase was twitching the last corner of sheet into place that House felt that inner light bulb go on in his brain. It was the same sense of epiphany that took place when he solved an interesting case. “You wanted to do this.”

Chase whirled around so fast he lost his balance and fell back, catching himself on the edge of the bed, and sitting down with a shaky breath. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why would you say that?” Chase looked about with the nervous edge of a bunny cornered by a wolf. “I told you, I lost a bet.”

“Yes, a mysterious bet, with a mysterious person. And just where did this mysterious person find that costume at this time of year? Just happened to have it on hand?” As he spoke he stepped menacingly closer to the bed, cane tapping melodically in time with each step. “It fits so nicely too.” He let his fingers trail down a fishnet caught thigh, leaving them there. Chase didn’t move, his body frozen, not even bothering to evade the touch. A swath of hair was covering his eyes; his mouth slightly open as if at any time now he might think of a comeback, though none was forthcoming.

House savored the moment; he loved nothing more than to give the answer. “There-“ he began and was cut off by Chase.

“There was a bet.”

“-wasn’t a bet,” House continued and then did a double take, “heyyy,”

For the first time that evening Chase looked him directly in the eyes, and smiled, “Sorry.”

“Ohh, it means nothing if you smile about it,” House complained. He was attempting to not notice that his hand was trailing along the side of Chase’s thigh. If he noticed it, then he would have to question its motives. And in questioning its motives he might have to question all of his own motives. And that would a horrible thing.

“So, there was a bet,” he muttered at last, surprised that his hand was still on the prowl. Maybe he would have to question it after all, for surely he wasn’t directly involved with its actions anymore.

There definitely had been a bet, and one that Chase had lost. It still didn’t explain why he’d gone through with it. The situation had been embarrassing; House could tell Chase hadn’t faked that. Therefore, why put yourself in a situation that so blatantly mortified you? What was Chase still managing to hide?

Then it hit him, “You wanted to be embarrassed,” he told Chase triumphantly.

“No, actually,” Chase told House’s knees, “I knew I would be, but I didn’t want to be.”

House glared irritably at the bowed head, telling his hand that under no circumstances was it going to touch that seemingly soft hair. It did anyway, and even went so far as to comb it a little with fingertips. He silently berated his hand for undermining direct orders and managed to pull it back to his side after one last tousle. He felt like smacking it to teach it a lesson - wondering if it might be possessed - maybe he should exorcize it instead?

Sighing, he eased onto the bed beside Chase, and tried to meet his eyes, but Chase was having none of it and kept refusing to meet his gaze, even going so far as to turn his head away. When Chase trembled suddenly, House finally took notice that his hand had escaped custody once more and was making a break for it.

The crazed hand was currently slipping its way under the side of the frilly skirt, and apparently looking for love in all the right places. It grabbed a hold of one garter, running a finger back and forth beneath it, and House carefully refrained from noticing. Though he did wonder why Chase didn’t say anything. His hand was blatantly feeling the boy up and Chase had yet to utter a word against it.

House understood abruptly what the answer was to his question, the “eureka” moment at last hitting him. Hell, if there were a surgery to barge into and yell, “Stop!” he would do so. He didn’t know if he should credit his hand for giving him the answer, but it didn’t appear to need any thanks at all as it slid further beneath the skirt, never to be seen again by the looks of it.

“You wanted to be here,” he said calmly, glancing at Chase. There was no response, though his leg quivered, but then, that could have been the hand’s fault. “You didn’t necessarily want to be in that outfit,” he gestured at it with his free hand, “or on these terms. But you wanted to be here.”

“I really didn’t want to be here dressed like this,” Chase told him softly, shifting position to aid the hand in its reckless flight.

House continued to ignore his hand as best he could, he wasn’t involved, it was on its own. He glanced down, eyed it, saw where it was, and looked away. “How did you want to be here?”

“I…” Chase glanced between his legs, blushed profusely and tried again, “I…” the hand was apparently onto something good, “I…can’t concentrate when you do that!”

House glared at his hand and then met Chase’s eyes briefly. “What? I’m not doing anything.”

“But your hand!”

“It has a mind of its own, ignore it.”

“But it’s…” Chase was panting, the red flush he’d gained swooping across his face and down his neck once more. There was something very wanton and desirable about him whenever that happened, like a sign had popped up with an advert for strawberry lube and a neon arrow pointing down.

“Do you have a schoolboy crush on me, Chase? Is that what this is all about?” House chided, as if his hand was not currently fondling a growing erection. “Unrequited affection perhaps? A need for a sexy father figure?”

A high-pitch squawk emanated from Chase, followed by the near audible quality of his mental breakdown. “Yes! Yes! Okay? Yes! I’m a masochist!”

“Really?”

“Yes!” which was followed by a long drawn out groan and then a defeated, “I work for you don’t I?”

“Ohh, you’re not supposed to just go admit to everything,” House said jovially, refusing to acknowledge even once that his hand was covered in Chase’s ejaculation and still milking desperate shivers from him. “It ruins the fun of solving the mystery.”

Chase uttered something that sounded a bit like “Gah!” or “You bastard!” though possibly it was a bit of both. House leaned over and whispered in his ear, “You really should learn to enunciate.”

His hand finally took leave and wiped itself along the inner frills of the skirt before bidding adieu to the wonders of the black panties. House smiled at it in greeting, welcoming it home. He stood, grabbing at his cane and gesturing briskly towards the door with the reclaimed hand. “I think I’m done with your services for the evening, why don’t you see yourself out?”

Chase gave him a look bordering on pure hatred and stood up, his mouth opened and then snap shut, and without another word he stormed out of the bedroom. A few seconds later House heard the blessed sound of his front door being slammed, followed by the anticlimactic sound of a key locking it from the outside.

So, Wilson had even supplied the kid with a key. House shook his head and went to the bathroom to wash up. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to thank Wilson or scold him, but he couldn’t say the evening hadn’t been entertaining. He glanced at the sparkling bathtub and grinned to himself.

Okay fine, maybe he would thank Wilson.


	2. House and the Wager Conundrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an unexpected(to me) continuation of The Puzzling Matter of Dr. Chase and the Fishnet Stockings

Wilson was just taking a sip of coffee when a hand clamped onto his shoulder. Startled, he managed to spill only half the cup on the floor, before whirling and spilling the other half on House. They both exclaimed, House more so, and Wilson glared at his friend. “It is not right that a man with a cane is able to sneak up on people.”

“People? Or just you?”

“Fine, on me.”

“I’m so glad you said so. I could use some breakfast after that bath of coffee,” House announced, ignoring the puddle on the floor and himself, and clacking away briskly towards the elevator.

Wilson groaned and nodded in defeat at the back of House’s head. The morning seemed to be getting off to its typical start of Wilson zero, House one. Then he abruptly remembered the night before, and ran to catch up to the closing elevator doors and a grinning Greg House.

The doors slid shut and he turned to House with an expectant look, one eyebrow raised. “Well?”

“Well what?” House turned a bored gaze towards the doors.

“You know what, I know you know what.”

“You know that I know what?”

“That I know that you know that…” Wilson trailed off; he glared at House while trying not to smile. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“I didn’t know that.” A smug look accompanied the declaration.

“So,” Wilson tried again, taking a different approach, “How did you like the gift?”

“Ahh, that what.”

“Well?”

House gave him a long steady look, a corner of his mouth quirking into a half smile. “It came in handy.”

“Why do I get the feeling I don’t really want to know what you mean by that?”

“Oh, but you do, Jimmy, I can tell.” The elevator dinged and opened its doors, and the two continued their walk towards the cafeteria, House leading. “By the way, where did you find that outfit?”

“That’s what you’re curious about?” Wilson asked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. There was no response as they entered the cafeteria and House made a beeline for the food. By the time they’d both picked out something, paid and found a seat, Wilson had given up trying to withhold any information about the bet. “Alright, you have your blood-breakfast, now tell me about last night.”

“This was for the coffee all over my favorite shirt, I’ll tell you about last night for free.” House paused and contemplated that. “On second thought, tell me about the bet and I’ll tell you about last night.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you what the bet was, considering it has to do with both of you.”

House perked up at that, absently munching on a piece of waffle and staring off at the other diners with an air of vacancy. He was contemplating what the bet could have been, knowing now that it involved both Chase and himself. At last he smiled at Wilson and asked, “Does he wuv me? Is that what it was about? His undying feelings of wuv?”

Wilson glared witheringly, “Wuv? When did you turn into a teenage girl?”

“Never, but Chase always has been. Now start spilling your guts so I can read the entrails.”

“You’re into voodoo now?”

“No, I just like the loops, now spill.”

“Not here,” Wilson said with a quick look around at the rest of the cafeteria. “Meet me at my office around two.”

House grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Oh, I can tell this is going to be good.”

 

A few hours later, House, dressed in a fresh t-shirt, slipped over the railings outside and made a face at Wilson through the glass when he found the door locked. “I know I said you should lock it once in a while, but I didn’t mean it,” he told his friend when he was finally allowed in.

“I love that even when I listen to you, you complain about it.” Wilson said with a roll of his eyes, collapsing behind his desk.

“Spill,” was the response.

“You have no patience.”

“I waited until today, I could’ve called you last night,” House pointed out smugly.

“Hm, and believe me, I appreciate that you waited.”

“Wilson…”

“Okay, alright, fine. It started about two months ago.”

 

It was mid-October, a beautiful time of year. Leaves falling, weather crisp, and Robert Chase unaware that just because you mixed and matched loud tones, didn’t mean they went together. Maroon and baby blue did not work, especially when you tossed a pale yellow tie into the mix and covered it all up in a white coat.

Wilson was just turning down the hall when he caught sight of the young doctor running away from House’s office. Perhaps, he mused, he was trying to run away from his own fashion sense? But, since that was obviously impossible, it was more than likely an order from House that had sent him running.

Sure enough, upon looking into House’s office he could see his friend was deep in thought; his eyes wearing that faraway glaze, a case file beneath his hand on the desk. He considered interrupting for a moment, but just as his hand hovered over the door handle Chase reappeared at a dead run. He gave Wilson a brisk nod and flung his way into House’s office.

Wilson decided to get on with the business of the day and leave House to his case. He was walking away when he heard it. Normally he would have continued walking, but the slamming of a pressurized door is a hard feat to achieve, and out of curiosity he turned. Chase was hurrying away once more, but this time Wilson noticed what he hadn’t noticed before.

He’d never quite liked Chase, something about the boy irking him in a way he couldn’t describe. The kid was a stooge, albeit a good-looking stooge - a yes man, a sycophant, a bootlicking ass-kisser, and he was in love with House. Funny, Wilson had never noticed that before.

 

“Wait, wait, wait.” House held up his hand, interrupting Wilson’s story. “How did this insightful epiphany happen? One minute you don’t notice a thing, and the next you realize he’s in love with me? There’s a faulty line of reasoning in there somewhere. Now how about you tell me the truth?”

“I am!”

“You widen your eyes when you lie.”

Wilson sighed, “Alright, that’s not how I figured it out.”

House nodded, “I know, now tell me how you did.”

 

It was mid-October, a crap-ass time of year, wet and cold. Wilson was running late and full up to the eyebrows with patients. The eyebrows were fed up with being filled up to, and were considering a vacation somewhere warm, the rest of Wilson was considering a vacation as well, but was less open about its needs. Wilson had just dropped a file around the corner from House’s office when he heard two voices. Not one to eavesdrop he’d shuffled together his spilled papers and was just hurrying off when a few words caught his ear.

“-a crush on House,” one voice said – Wilson recognized it as Foreman’s.

“Chase? What makes you say that?” – Cameron’s voice, high-pitched and unbelieving.

“When was the last time he went against anything House has asked?”

Silence for a moment and then, “that doesn’t mean he wants House.”

“What? You don’t want the competition?”

“I…no, that’s not it at all! I think you’re making assumptions without proof. I haven’t noticed anything I would call crush behavior.”

“You’re not a guy.”

Silence again, and then the sound of footsteps walking away. Cameron’s voice faded as they moved, and the last Wilson managed to hear was, “Chase is not gay, okay? Believe me.”

 

House stared at him, eyes boring holes as if he could see the truth scrolling across Wilson’s forehead. Purposefully he reached into his pocket and pulled out his bottle of Vicoden, popping two and dry swallowing. His eyes remained intently on Wilson until his friend at last broke.

“Alright, fine,” he held up his hands, “you got me.”

House grunted, and leaned back, still lancing Wilson with his gaze.

“That’s not what happened either. God! You never cut me a break!” Wilson clutched at his forehead as if a headache was brewing from all the intense staring. “Why can’t you ever let anything go? I should have known you wouldn’t let this be.”

“What happened?”

“…I can’t tell you.”

“What? You’re choosing Chase over me?”

“House!” Wilson exclaimed in a pained voice. “It’s…complicated.”

“You’ve got one more swing, don’t strike or you’re out.”

Wilson slanted him a look, “I’m beginning to agree with Cameron about those sports metaphors.”

“She doesn’t like them because she doesn’t understand them. And that was a weak attempt to try and change the subject. I’m very disappointed in you, Jimmy.”

“You’re not going to like this…”

House went back to boring holes into his forehead.

 

There wasn’t a bet. There had never been a bet. The bet was a red herring. What there had been was a tipsy Wilson, a mid-October costume party, and Dr. Robert Chase dressed as a French maid.

Wilson hadn’t liked Chase much before that party, but found that with a few drinks and an amusingly dressed Chase, he was positively engaging. They’d chatted for a while at the party - one House hadn’t gone to, when suddenly Wilson had the brilliant idea of daring Chase to show up at House’s apartment dressed in the costume and offer maid service to go with it. They’d howled over the idea. It’d never been anything more than a joke.

They’d begun talking after that. When they met in halls they’d stop and exchange words, instead of merely passing one another by. And little by little, Wilson began to realize something about the Australian. He may have been a yes-man, a sycophant, and a bit of an ass-kisser, but he loved House. He looked up to him, maybe even wanted to be him a little. Wilson couldn’t blame him for that; sometimes the heroes you worshipped didn’t even know they were heroes, let alone worshiped as such. And sometimes, you couldn’t tell your egotistical best friends that they were looked up to more than they’ll ever know.

The truth was, Chase had gone to House’s all on his own, no bet or dare needed. And had spilled the whole story out to Wilson in a rush as he’d hurried down the hall that morning*. Right down to the nitty-gritty details that Wilson really wished he could erase from his memory. But what Wilson said instead of all this was, “I bet him he wouldn’t show up at your house dressed like that, he won, I paid him this morning. Happy now?”

“Yes,” House said slowly, he could tell Wilson was still holding something back, part of the truth remaining untold. He also realized there was no way he would get Wilson to spill the rest. Though, there was still Chase to bully into an answer.

Wilson let loose a heartfelt sigh of defeat. “You’re going to go ask Chase now, aren’t you?”

House grinned, “You can’t just hand me a bone to chew and then tell me it’s not mine to devour.”

“Which bit’s the bone exactly? No, wait, on second thought I don’t think I want to know.”

House tipped an imaginary hat towards his friend and stood. “Thanks for the treat, by the way, I did enjoy it immensely.” He leaned across the desk and patted Wilson rather hard on the shoulder, “I even enjoyed the lies.”

 

It was nearing nine at night when House cornered Chase in an upstairs hallway. Without a word he took Chase by the elbow and limpingly ushered him towards a nearby empty room. Chase shut the door once they were inside, and waited.

The room used to contain a hospital bed, faint marks on the floor from where the sun had bleached its way around the shape. A few chairs stacked in a corner the only furniture left behind. House slid the blinds closed, gesturing to Chase to grab some chairs for them. He did so without a word, setting them side-by-side facing the door.

House sat down and began tapping his cane across the floor in a game of which only he knew the rules. Chase watched quietly for a few minutes, growing visibly tenser with each nip of sound. At last it seemed he couldn’t take another moment of the light clacking and blurt, “You found out what it was.” He ran a hand nervously through his hair afterward, looking as if he were about to start pacing.

House merely glanced at him and continued to tap. It was a matter of out-waiting the blonde, and annoying him while he did so. Chase had a low tolerance for tense, silent situations, especially if you mixed in intermittent irritating sounds.

Clack, clack, tap, tick, tap, click, clack.

It took a total of two and a half minutes before Chase snapped like a glove on a proctologist’s hand. He jumped up and rushed towards the door, one hand on it and ready to throw it open when House spoke for the first time since he’d dragged him into the room.

“I think I was right last night.”

Chase turned, eyes wide. “About what?”

House didn’t answer; instead he stood and began a menacing walk towards Chase. His hand covered the blonde’s on the knob and with a twist he made Chase’s hand lock the door. Beneath his fingers, the hand trembled. For a moment House was thrown a full twenty-four hours into the past to the exact moment when he’d realized Chase wanted him. “There was no bet.”

“But,”

“There was no bet. You just wanted to do it, didn’t you?”

“I…”

“He gave you a key though, which is interesting and disturbingly un-Wilson like.” House struggled not to notice his hand had become possessed once more. Apparently it had ideas of its own about touching Chase, and despite the fact that he was internally yelling at it to come back, it ignored all direct orders and went its own route. “The real question, is why did you want to do it?”

Chase’s eyes were following the hand, which was apparently trying to loosen his tie. His breathing escalated a notch, hands at his sides clenching and unclenching. He opened his mouth to respond and then seemed to think better of it, abruptly dropping to his knees. The hand suddenly bereft was left clutching at thin air.

House glanced down and leaned back against the door. Certainly the blonde wasn’t going to do what he thought he was going to do. It would be completely unlike Chase. A small voice from the deep left corner of his mind reminded him that last night had also been completely unlike Chase, as well as unlike himself. For a shocking instant he met Chase’s gaze head on, and his hand twitched at his side. It was going to go for the hair, he could just tell.

Chase had his zipper halfway down and was panting against it when the hand made its move, diving for the hair and tugging it forward. A moment later House’s eyes shut, his head thumping gently against the door.

Truly, if blowjobs were cheaper and easier to come by, he might not need Vicoden at all. It had nearly the same effect, his muscles relaxed, his brain stopped humming at such high and dangerous speeds, his mood became slightly more elevated. And for a short while, though only ever for a short while, he didn’t think at all on his leg or the pain it caused him.

He knew Chase was only doing it to shut him up and stop the questions. He would have pondered that, but as a distraction, a blowjob worked very well. With his eyes closed and his treacherous, betraying hand buried wrist deep in hair, all House could concentrate on were the sensations and sounds. Yet after only a few moments of the wet, slurping, suction-filled, sloppy noise, he just had to look.

At first all he saw was his own fist clenched so tightly within Chase’s hair it would have taken a crowbar and a pro-weightlifter to get it off. Then he saw the eyes, those normally solemn green eyes were staring straight at him, not closed, or shyly cast down, but right into his own. House had always believed that the idea of the eyes being the windows to the soul was ridiculous, suddenly - he knew why they said it at all. There was such intensity, Chase wasn’t just blowing him, oh no, he was searing the memory into place. For both of them.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, House found himself desperately wishing for a camera. Not that his mind wouldn’t be able to supply him with the image for the rest of his life, but more, he wanted actual proof that yes, someone could look good giving head. No, not only look good, but to look so good they should be filmed and studied for the next few generations to get it right. And then there was tongue and teeth and for a moment a very somber look, right before House’s eyes slid shut.

For a while, longer than the amount of time that in reality passed, House swirled in a stunning haze of pleasure. Forgotten were petty annoyances, puzzles, and bets; instead there was only the mouth and what it was managing to do to him. He did not question, he did not think.

There was the quiet of the room, dirty with the sounds of slurping. The feel of the hair within the grasp of his left hand; the surprise of finding his other hand had committed high treason by slipping down and finding Chase’s fingers braced on his hip, where they twined. His eyes opened when he came, and despite the warnings of what was left of his mind, they chose to look down. It seemed every part of his body was becoming treasonous.

His mouth opened, a mocking comment on the tip of his tongue, but before he could even begin the sentence he stopped. Chase was looking up at him, his hand still twined with House’s, and what House could not stop looking at was the tiny shiny remnant of his own orgasm gleaming at him from Chase’s bottom lip. It was mesmerizing. Before he could stop himself, his lips proceeded to betray him in the most horrible fashion, and slide over Chase’s; his tongue licked out and grabbed the droplet.

When he pulled away his leg started to remind him it was there, the room was filled with the sound of central air, and Chase was staring at him with doe eyes - wide and liquid and just a little bit fearful. It was like waking, he nearly shook himself with the jolt of it. The world came into focus again, yet Chase remained a fuzzy blob, a question mark. His mouth opened once more, but all that came was, “Want to clean my apartment again tonight?”

Chase buried his head against a jean-clad thigh and groaned. “Sure,” came the muffled reply, “I’m a glutton for humiliation.”

Above his head House grinned to himself. In his mind he saw the night ahead; Chase bent over a couch arm, Chase flushing crimson, Chase … Chase cleaning under the couch, oh yes, oh that was the stuff. He chuckled evilly, and from his thigh came a muttered, “I am not wearing the outfit.”

House smirked, “Wanna bet?”


End file.
